Two Lost Souls
by elle4
Summary: Dean is attempting to get through his senior year, and his home life. Castiel is seemingly blindly following his father's wishes. Will the two become friends? Or something more? High School AU, Destiel, alcohol, abuse, language; rated just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Dean stared at his reflection in the mirror. He eased his hand to his face, wincing as he lightly touched the delicate skin around his left eye. It was worse than the night before. There was still swelling. The discoloration of his skin was turning into a sort of purple-blue hue. There was no way around the fact that the bruising could be easily noticed. He splashed some cool water on his face. It felt nice against his slightly throbbing eye.

There was a knock on the door. "Dean," his father grumbled. "Get your ass in gear. Leaving in five." Dean gripped the edge of the laminate counter top. He breathed in deeply as he listened for his father's footsteps to fade before leaving the bathroom.

Sam was sitting at the table in the kitchen. His cereal had been scarfed down rather quickly, and Dean watched as his little brother brought the edge of the bowl to his mouth to drink the milk. Sam noticed his brother in the door frame. There was no way of beating around the bush. Dean's black eye was clearly visible. Sam made to speak, to ask him what had happened, but he knew who had done this to him. He had ears.

"Dad in the car already?" Dean asked.

"Probably," Sam said. "I just have to put my bowl in the sink."

"Hurry up." Dean picked up his backpack from his seat at the kitchen table. He slung one of the straps over his shoulder and headed out the front door. Sam followed close behind.

Their father was sitting behind the wheel of a 1967 Impala. The car was purchased before his sons were born and was the single most important thing in his life. It showed. He kept it in top condition with no rust, new tires, and a spotless interior. Dean slumped into the passenger seat. Sam climbed in the back. The car ride was silent despite the low volume on the radio. It was a classic song, one that Dean knew all too well. He sang the words to himself. _We're just two lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl, year after year._

The car pulled up to the middle school. Sam clambered out of the Impala. Dean followed. "Dean," his father called out. He turned around to face the man. "You know the drill." He didn't have to say anything back to his Dad. Dean nodded and followed his long-legged younger brother towards the building.

Each day the boys would be dropped off in the parking lot of the middle school. Sam had it easy. Dean had to walk the distance between the two buildings every morning and afternoon. He waved to his little brother and continued his walk towards the high school, passing the field where the marching band practiced. He enjoyed the days in the fall when they'd be on the field, standing in formation, playing a few notes of a song before being yelled at to, "Stop," by a tiny man in a cherry picker. It all seemed rather humorous from afar. There was no way he could handle being in the marching band. Too much work.

He then came to the football field. The fresh cut grass was mixed with the smell of paint. The field had been recently mowed and the yard lines sat bright white against green. Soon it would be torn up by the cleats of the fighting Crusaders. The losing Crusaders, Dean reminded himself. The team hadn't won a game in two years. Dean looked at his wrist watch. He had ten minutes to get to his first class.

Teenagers pushed their way through the halls of the school. There was no sense of personal space as everyone knocked shoulders and stepped on each other's heels. Dean quietly made his way to his locker. He placed his backpack inside and kept only a notebook, a pen, and his copy of Slaughter House-Five on his person. Dean then walked down the hall towards his history class.

History was dull, as always. They were covering early American politics. Dean slumped in his seat and kept his head low, burying his face into his favorite novel. Vonnegut was his new god. The books were easy reads which took him into another world of black satire, humor and science fiction. The time travel in this particular story still peaked his interest even on his fourth read through.

"Dean," Mr. Wesson called out. The boy hadn't heard. The teacher walked between the desks towards the student sitting in the back row. "Dean," he said again. Dean looked up from behind his novel. He could feel the eyes of his classmates on him. "Would you mind putting your book away? We're doing an assignment, I'd like it turned in by the end of class." There were murmurs amongst the students. Dean knew they were whispering about him. Whispering about the new bruise on his face.

"Sorry," Dean mumbled as he noticed the paper sitting on his desk. He had left his textbook in his bedroom. There were a few extras on the bookshelf next to the window. Dean grabbed one and worked on the questions, but there was no way he could concentrate. He wanted to continue reading about Billy Pilgrim and the British soldiers who were residing as prisoners of war in Dresden. Dean did his best and scribbled down words in chicken scratch. It would have to do. He waited until the end of class to turn in his paper. The stack of finished assignments were piled at the edge of Mr. Wesson's desk.

"Dean, can I ask what happened to your eye?" Mr. Wesson inquired. He noticed it on the student earlier when he had looked up from his book.

"It's nothing," Dean said. He couldn't bare looking at him directly. Dean focused his attention on a yellow post-it note that was stuck on the computer screen. He couldn't make out what it read from where he stood, though he tried. Perhaps it was his password to access the computer. Maybe it was just a personal note for all Dean knew.

"It looks like someone gave you quite the shiner," Mr. Wesson said.

"I should get going to my next class," Dean said quietly, avoiding the remark. He didn't want to discuss what had happened. Dean had promised his dad he'd stick to the plan. The plan that he had to follow without thought of opposition.

"You sure you're okay?" Mr. Wesson asked. The man hated seeing his students dealing with something that was out of his control. He became a teacher for this very purpose, realizing later that it was easier said than done.

"I'm fine," Dean said. He then turned and left the classroom. The hallway had cleared out with only a few stragglers making their way to their next class. Dean kept his things clutched to his chest. He was staring at his feet, drifting down the black and white checkered linoleum, not paying any mind to where they were taking him. In a split second, Dean saw a pair of black Converses in his line of sight and found himself colliding into a body. Books and papers were strewn about from the impact.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Dean heard a male voice say. Both boys began to pick up the papers and books that they dropped. The other kid grabbed Slaughter House-Five just before Dean could get his hands on the novel. "Vonnegut?" the boy asked. Dean looked up to see a boy roughly his age looking at him. It wasn't hard to notice his shinning blue eyes. Dean shook it off. "He's one of my favorite authors."

"Mine too," Dean got out.

"Have you read Cat's Cradle? I finally read it over summer vacation."

Dean nodded. "Twice." The kid gave Dean the library book back.

"I'm Castiel, by the way," the boy said.

"Dean."

"I guess I'll see you around then, Dean," Castiel said. He got up and headed down the hall towards the classroom that Dean had just left. Castiel, what an odd name. Dean couldn't get the encounter out of his mind the rest of the day. It was hard to fathom thinking that there was someone else in this school that enjoyed reading great novels. Sam had been reading some supernatural romance series that Dean detested outright. All he needed was to read the back cover to understand that it was a load of tripe. What kind of a plot could there be with two guys driving around the country hunting things that go bump in the night? And how in the world could they stay so good looking when they seemed to run on fast food and lack of sleep? Dean didn't want to admit that he did in fact read the first book and had watched the movie with Sam the day it came out in theatres. That Dane guy was pretty bad ass.

Dean went through the rest of his classes with his mind on this mysterious kid named Castiel. Something about him intrigued Dean. He couldn't figure it out apart from appreciating his taste in the author he loved. Even during his last class, photography, he couldn't fully concentrate. And it was the one blow off class that he enjoyed. The teacher allowed the students to listen to music while they were exposing their film. There was something rather calming about working in the dark room with the sounds of Led Zeppelin coming through his headphones. Dean tried to listen to the blues riffs of the Lemon Song, but it didn't help. His mind kept picturing the face of this kid that he ran into in the hall. Mostly it was those bright blue eyes that had left an impression. And the dirty lyrics aided in his imagination. He tried desperately to curb his thoughts. There was no way he was letting his mind take him down that path.

After his last class was let out, Dean sat on the curb in front of the middle school. He had his book open, reading what he could to pass the time while he waited for his brother's final class to end. It was nice on a day like this to sit outside and read. Dean dreaded the oncoming winter months. He'd have to wait at the high school before trekking in the snow to meet up with Sam.

"Dude." Dean turned to see his brother next to him. "You're reading that book again?"

"So? It's my favorite," Dean said, as he placed the novel into his backpack.

"Is Dad here yet?" Sam asked.

"How should I know?"

Sam sighed. "Well, do you see his car?"

"It's more like can you hear his car," Dean said as he stood up from where he was sitting.

Sam acted like he didn't hear Dean. "He said he'd be here at three, right? Well, it's three."

"He'll be here, Sammy," Dean said. Dad won't leave you behind. The boys waited another fifteen minutes before they heard the roar of the Impala's engine coming through the parking lot. Sam and Dean got into the car without even a welcoming greeting from their father. They again sat in silence with the classic rock radio playing in the background.

* * *

><p>Castiel walked home from school. The small house that he shared with his older brothers and father sat a few blocks away. He enjoyed the time to himself. It was quiet. The exact opposite of growing up with three older brothers. Castiel came upon the red bricked house. The lawn needed a mow. Weeds were springing up amongst what little flowers had been planted. Paint was chipping off the siding. Home is what you make of it, he thought.<p>

"Fuck," Castiel said under his breath. His father's car, a beat up white Ford truck, was in the drive way. He had thought that his father was working this afternoon. Castiel slipped inside the front door, quietly making his way down to his bedroom. He threw his backpack on the floor before plopping himself onto his bed. Homework could wait.

"Castiel," a voice called from the doorway.

"Yeah, dad," Castiel said. He sat up to face his father.

"How was school?" his father asked.

"Fine," Castiel answered.

"Luke is bringing home pizza when he gets off work, Gabe's in his room, and I'll be leaving for my shift in a few hours," he told his son. "Get your homework done. I don't want a repeat of last year."

"Okay," Castiel said. He laid on his left side and stared out the window. He watched a squirrel clamber up a tree as he heard his father's footfalls creak on the basement stairs. Castiel shut his eyes. It wasn't hard to let his mind wander.

He had been rushing to get to his next class. Whoever decided on the location of lockers royally fucked me over, Castiel had thought as he quickly flung open the metal door. He had grabbed his history text book and slammed his locker shut. Without much care, he had started to jog down the halls, dodging students who were in his way. There was no way he could be late again. But that was futile. In a split second he had collided into someone. He knew full well that he wasn't going to make it on time. His books and papers had been strewn across the floor. Castiel bent down and grabbed an all too familiar copy of Slaughter House-Five. When he looked at who the novel belonged too, his heart dropped. Green eyes locked onto his. Castiel thought, "Shit, I didn't give that to him, did I?" He then registered that this kids' black eye was clearly a day or two old. He was as polite as he could be, finding out that his name was Dean.

Almost immediately Castiel flopped himself onto the carpet. He ransacked the mess under his bed to find last year's yearbook. Silently he prayed that this kid went to his high school last year. Castiel flipped through the pages. He started with tenth, hoping that the kid was in his grade. He had no last name to go by. Castiel scanned the photos, trying hard to not miss the face he was looking for. Then he found him near the back of the eleventh grade class section. Dean Winchester. So, he was a senior now, a grade above himself. The small picture was in black and white but Castiel could tell that he was wearing a black Metallica t-shirt. His hair was disheveled like he hadn't ran a comb through it that morning. He still looked the same, Castiel noted.

"What do you got there, Cassie?" Castiel heard his brother Gabriel behind him.

"Just my yearbook," Castiel replied.

"And what prompted this? You didn't even want that thing in the first place," Gabriel said. Castiel turned around to look at his older brother. Gabe held a bag of M&M's in his grasp, shoving a handful of chocolate into his mouth. Castiel could hear him crunching the candy coated shells from where he was sitting on the carpet.

Castiel shrugged. "It's becoming helpful now."

"How?" Gabriel made his way into his baby brother's room and sat down on his bed. Castiel still had the book open to the page with Dean's picture, his back against the mattress.

"I dunno," Castiel said. "Just ran into a kid in the halls, thought I'd find him in here."

"Did you?" Gabriel shoved in his mouth another handful of chocolate.

"I did," Castiel replied.

Gabriel looked over his brother's shoulder. "Which one?" Castiel pointed out Dean's photo. "He looks like your type. All handsome and brooding."

"Shut up, Gabe," Castiel said. He slammed his yearbook closed. "When does Luke come home from work? I'm starving."

"Soon, I hope," Gabriel said behind more chocolate. "Oh," he swallowed, "Dad said it's your turn to lead."

"I did it the night before," Castiel said.

"Not my problem. You're the one who got grounded." Gabriel stood up. "Just don't repeat what you said yesterday. Change it up a bit. Dad'll see right through you."

"Fine," Castiel huffed. There was no way that he could lead tonight. Though, his brother was right, he was grounded and his Dad had included this in his punishment. He'd rather clean the bathroom, the kitchen and his bedroom than lead prayer.

He tried to get through some of his homework. Castiel knew that he needed to keep his grades up this semester. If he didn't, he knew his father would come down hard on him for failing. Yes, getting anything lower than a B- would ensure the wrath of his father. And he'd always end up bringing his oldest brother, Michael, into the equation who was currently at Harvard. The future lawyer. The shinning son of Charles Novak.

Castiel fell asleep at his desk and was awoken by the sounds of people in the kitchen. Noise travelled easily in the small house. Drool had pooled onto his geometry book. Lovely, he thought, as he whipped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He entered the kitchen to see Luke, Gabriel and his father waiting for Castiel to join them. Dishes had been set. Two pizza boxes sat in the center of the table.

"Castiel, I was just about to send Gabe to get you," his father said. "Working hard on your homework, I hope."

"Yes, dad," Castiel said. He completed some math problems before drifting off to sleep. It wasn't a complete lie on his part.

"You're still leading prayer before dinner," his father reminded him. Castiel sat down in his seat. He waited for his dad and his brothers to close their eyes and fold their hands. Castiel followed suit. This was his least favorite part about having to live with his family. He still needed to rely on his father for survival, so he had to follow his rules. The curse of being seventeen.

"God," Castiel started to say, "please bless our family, especially Michael who needs your guidance as he studies law in Harvard. Watch over Lucifer and Gabriel because they need you to guide them towards the right path regarding their future. And our father needs you to help him with that promotion he's been working towards." Castiel paused to figure out what else to add. He had pretty much reworded what he prayed on the night before. He was waiting for his father to cough, the sound that would signal the boys to find something else to pray on. There was no cough. Castiel continued. "We worship You and Your word, and use each day to get closer to You. Lord, You fill our hearts with love and we adore You. We await to greet You in the Kingdom of Heaven. Amen."

"Amen," Castiel heard his family recite once he finished. His father said nothing regarding his prayer, much to Castiel's relief. The pizza boxes were opened, and the slices were distributed. The sons waited for their father to take the first bite before eating themselves.

"Boys," Mr. Novak started to say. "This Saturday we're covering Acts. I want it read by the time we have bible discussion, and I want to be out of the house before noon." His sons nodded in understanding. Wonderful. Another thing that Castiel had to add to his mental list of things to accomplish this week. Their father finished his diner, placed his plate in the sink, and left his sons to head off to work at the auto factory. He occasionally took on night shifts for the hours, alongside working during the day when necessary. It was always difficult to tell if Charles was coming or going, much to Castiel's irritation.

Castiel helped Gabriel and Luke with the dishes. He then sulked back to his room, knowing that his homework still needed to be completed. Castiel did what he could on his assignments. It was useless to continue past ten in the evening. He wanted to spend some time for himself. His future be damned. And what Castiel did while his father was away was on a need to know basis. And he didn't need to know.

Under his bed was a shoe box. Castiel had acquired many things that he hid in it, and on most nights when his father was gone he would pull out a particular magazine. He fished for it, having placed it underneath some other magazines he'd collected over the years. This one was risky to conceal. If his father had stumbled upon it, he'd definitely be in deep shit. Castiel flipped through the pages and came across what he was looking for. The man in the once glossy photograph had dirty blonde hair and bright green eyes. He was standing seductively in relatively little clothing. Well, if you can consider a fireman's hat, tight yellow boxers, red suspenders and boots clothing. He turned the page. The same man was seated with his legs parted. His dick was against his leg. Castiel slid his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, while thinking about a different pair of striking green eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

"Shit," Dean exclaimed. He was preparing pasta for himself and Sam. Their dad had left his two sons to fend for themselves. Dean tried desperately to not ruin the sauce, but ended up burning his arm in the process.

"You okay?" Sam asked from the kitchen table.

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean said. "Just burned my arm is all." He turned down the temperature. It had begun bubbling, splashing little red dots all over the stove top.

"Do you need help?"

"No, no," Dean replied. "Just finish your homework. The noodles are almost done." Dean tasted the pasta when the timer beeped. It was cooked correctly, and he was grateful. The first time he attempted spaghetti he had botched the noodles. The box said eight minutes. He boiled them for the time allotted and it clearly wasn't enough as they were slightly crunchy. Dean learned from this mistake rather quickly. Never again did he assume that the instructions were correct.

Dean piled two plates full of noodles and sauce. The boys ate quietly as they did their homework. Sam went off to the living room when he was finished to watch cartoons. Dean was left with the dishes. Nothing new here, Dean thought as he squirted soap into the sink. While he was scraping the bottom of the sauce pan his mind went over the day he had at school. It was perfectly normal. He read his book, turned in his barely finished assignments, and skimmed through the fiction section of the library during lunch. The book he wanted to read next was there, so he checked it out. Catch-22 sat on the kitchen table. It was just waiting for Dean to immerse himself into its plot and characters.

It was nearly nine in the evening when Dean finally sat down to start his new novel. He finally picked one out that he hadn't read yet. He got to the bit with Orr and Yossarian's banter over apple cheeks when he heard his father's car pull up the drive. "Fuck," Dean mumbled to himself. At least Sam's asleep. He gathered his books and shoved them into his backpack. If he bolted the living room now, he could make it to his bedroom before his father walked into the house. The door opened.

"What are you doing up, boy?" John Winchester barked out to his oldest son upon seeing him in the living room.

Dean feebly replied, "I'm just going to bed now." He stood rooted to his spot in front of the couch. His feet felt like they were incased in cement.

"Where's Sammy," John garbled. The man made his way towards his son. He staggered, stopped, and tried to continue walking to the living room. Dean watched. Drunks were usually used in comedies for humor; their slurring, lack of coordination and stupidity seemed to get a rouse out of viewers. Dean experienced this on an all too often occurrence. He couldn't get down with ever thinking getting wasted could be funny.

"Sleeping," Dean got out.

John finally reached his lounge chair, stabilizing himself by grasping the arm rest. "Make your useful. Get me some water." Dean didn't reply. He could smell the whiskey reeking off his breath. Just his luck. He automatically went to the kitchen to fill a glass with cold tap water. Dean was relieved when he saw his Dad had collapsed in his arm chair. He set the glass on the end table. Dean quietly went to his room to get ready for bed, backpack in hand.

Dean crawled under his sheets. The warmth of his blankets enveloped him. It was cozy and he didn't want to ever leave his bed. He'd rather sleep the next day away than have to go back to high school. Then, Dean's mind drifted to the kid he ran into in the hallway. It was nice knowing that there was someone there that appreciated a good book. But, would he even talk to this guy again? Would this Castiel even want to talk to Dean? What if they did talk and they had nothing else in common? There was one question that scared Dean the most. Was he really crushing on a guy that he had only shared a few short words with?

He really didn't know what to do about this feeling he had been trying to quell. It sat in his gut, festering there all day, and he tried desperately to keep his mind on some of his homework, feeding his brother, and reading one of his books. It sort of helped. But, bright blue eyes kept popping into his mind. Dean shoved the thought away. It was nothing. Castiel only intrigued Dean because he liked Vonnegut. Yeah, that had to be it, Dean thought. He was a possible friend. Nothing more. He shouldn't be having these thoughts.

* * *

><p>Castiel left the house later than usual the next morning. It was nearly six thirty when something in his brain clicked causing him to awaken with a start. "Tuesday, shit," Castiel mumbled as he forced himself out of bed. He quickly gathered up some semi-clean clothes, brushed his teeth, slipped his sneakers on, grabbed his backpack and flew out the door. It took him a good twenty minutes to walk to school each morning. Castiel liked to arrive at seven, even though his first hour didn't start until seven fifteen.<p>

As Castiel walked up the sidewalk towards the middle school, he heard a loud rumbling engine coming up behind him. He stopped. It was a large, black car of which he couldn't recall the make. He really wasn't good with knowing the names of old cars. Castiel continued to walk, watching as two boys climbed out. Automatically he recognized who had been sitting in the passenger seat. Dean Winchester.

What came over Castiel wasn't clear. One moment he was admiring this kid who clearly knew how to wear a pair of jeans, and the next, he was jogging towards him. "Dean," Castiel called out as he caught up to the teen.

Dean turned around to see who could possibly be calling his name. Had his brother forgotten something? Then, he noticed who was running his way. Castiel. The kid he bumped into yesterday.

"What's up?" Castiel said, stopping short in front of Dean.

Dean stared at his boots. "Nothing much, you?"

"Same, I guess," Castiel replied. "Was that your little brother? I saw him head into the middle school."

"Yeah, Sam." Dean tried to look at Castiel. He knew that it was polite to look at someone when in conversation, though, it was rather difficult for him to maintain this social custom longer than necessary.

"Cool, cool," he said. Dean started to walk, and he joined him. Castiel spoke again as they passed the marching band's practice field. "Do you always walk to the high school?"

"Yeah," Dean replied.

"I do too. Well, from my house. It's not that far away, actually," Castiel said. They walked on down the sidewalk together. A dull silence was starting to brew. Castiel decided that he needed to keep questioning Dean. "Did you finish Slaughter House-Five yet?"

"Yeah," Dean replied.

"You reading anything now?" Castiel was trying his hardest to keep a conversation going with this kid. He really wanted to find out what he could about Dean, hoping for a friendship to form. He didn't seem to be having any luck.

"Catch-22."

"I love that novel," Castiel said.

"This is the first time I'm reading it, actually," Dean said. Castiel was grateful that Dean actually spoke a full sentence. The monotone, one word answers were starting to annoy him. Did Dean even care to talk to him? It seemed like he was bothering the kid.

"Then I won't ruin anything for you," Castiel said, trying to fluff off the notion.

"Good, 'cause I didn't get to read much last night," Dean said. He looked over and caught Castiel staring at him. "What?"

"Um," Castiel was flustered. "If you don't mind me saying, you're bruise," Castiel pointed to his own eye, "it looks like its healing nicely."

"Oh, yeah," Dean said quietly. He touched the soft skin. It was starting to lose its blue coloring, making way for a greenish yellow shade that surrounded the socket. Dean thought it looked worse with this new hue, but had to remind himself that it was part of the healing process. Too often he dealt with witnessing how the skin restored itself.

"Can I ask how you," Castiel said, trailing off without finishing his question.

"I'd rather not talk about it," Dean said.

Fair enough, Castiel thought. They reached the parking lot of the high school. Seniors who had cars were parking them, and the busses were letting kids off at the front doors. "Hey, what lunch do you have?"

"The second one," Dean replied.

"Sweet," Castiel exclaimed. "Wanna sit with me?"

"Yeah, okay, sure," Dean said. He couldn't remember the last time he was invited to sit with someone at lunch. Hanging out by himself was getting to be rather comfortable. It was part of his routine. Sam had referred to him as a cat once. "A cat hates change and he likes his solitude," Sam had told him. "You hate change and you like your solitude. So, you, Dean, are a cat." Dean is not a cat. He hates cats. The last time he had crossed paths with a cat was at a distant aunt's house. John had dropped his sons off at her place saying that she was related to them in some way or another. He then left for the next two weeks without any mention as to where he was going. This lady was clearly a cat person. She had cross stitched cat pillows on her sofa amongst pictures of cats on the walls. On their first night there Dean woke up to her massive black cat standing by his pillow, tail held high with its butt right in his face. And the fact that they seem to stare right into your soul really freaked Dean out to the point that he had avoided the thing for as long as possible. It was as horrifying as Sam retelling his nightmares about clowns and midgets.

Dean and Castiel parted once they entered the building. Their lockers sat on opposite ends of the school. Castiel couldn't help but to watch his new friend as he melded into the crowded hall of students and teachers.

The morning seemed to drag on. Castiel sat in his English class just staring at his copy of Animal Farm. He had planned on reading it again. Well, he needed to read it again, he concluded. It had been over a year since he checked it out at the local library. The questions for the novel sat in front of him. He barely remembered the names of the three pigs, let alone the climax of the story. It really wasn't a stand out novel in his mind. He'd rather be rereading Nineteen Eighty Four. Castiel lay his head on the desk. Another half hour and he'd get to see Dean. It was starting to feel like an eternity.


	3. Chapter 3

There was no thought in Dean's mind that he must have misheard Castiel asking him to join him for lunch. It just didn't seem logical. Over the years Dean eased his way from the social circles that consumed school cafeterias. When he had entered high school, he was daunted by all of the kids that jammed the hallways. Their conversations all blurred together into an unintelligible language. Dean felt like all eyes were on him. That they were all staring in unison as a single, all-knowing entity. Three years later and he still felt like his classmates knew what went on behind closed doors. Dean learned quickly to keep his head low, and to get through his day one hour at a time.

"Hey, Winchester," a voice called out.

Dean tried hard to not look up from his notebook. He started to doodle silly little symbols; circles, stars and hearts. Yes, he found himself drawing little hearts along the left margin of his notebook.

"Winchester," he heard his name being called again. Dean turned to look at who was speaking to him. It was Crowley. The jerk who always got all the laughs for his ridiculous jokes which Dean didn't find to be funny in the least. "What happened to your eye? Daddy get pissed because you forgot to put his beer in the fridge?"

Dean tried to shrink away from the jibe about his father. It wasn't widely known about his Dad, though Dean wasn't surprised that Crowley knew. Their fathers both worked together at the dealership. Crowley's father was a salesman, while Dean's was a lowly mechanic. It didn't seem that hard for Dean to comprehend that they would have crossed paths at some point.

"Or did Daddy hit you just because he saw your face?" A few friends of Crowley's cackled at the remark. "'Cause I'd totally punch that face if you were my kid."

Dean tried hard to not waver, though the urge to run out into the hall over took him. The need was quickly dashed when his English teacher entered the classroom. Ms. Milton shut the door behind her. Crowley and his droogs took their seats.

"Class, calm down," Ms. Milton said. She picked up one of the dry erase markers. "This is the sentence that I want you all to jot down in your notebooks. Fix all of the grammatical mistakes that you can find. I want one of you to come up here and alter the sentence when you're all done." She finished writing and turned to face the class. "I have, of course, candy for those who get any part of it correct." Ms. Milton had a large glass container filled with candy on her desk. She only gave pieces out to those who answered questions right, got high grades on pop quizzes or did anything that garnered her approval. Dean couldn't remember a time that he had received a piece. And he had her last year for American literature.

Dean wrote down the sentence. He had no clue what to do to fix it. It looked okay to him. Luckily he didn't have to turn it in, deciding that he'd just wait for someone to write on the board. He slipped his copy of Catch-22 between the desk top and his lap. It didn't take long for him to dive right back into Pianosa.

Once English ended, it was time for lunch. It had been quite a while since the last time he stepped foot into the cafeteria. Dean entered and was quickly daunted by how many people were crammed into the room. Tables and benches were filled with teens of all ages and sizes. He barely made his way in, stopping after only a few steps past the doors. Dean scanned the room for Castiel. He laid eyes on him almost immediately. Castiel was sitting with a few other kids, laughing at something that someone had said. His eyes were shinning, his smile wide and he had his arm around some guy with dark brown hair. Something came over him, spreading throughout his entire body, and his stomach recoiled. His heart started to race. There was no way he could just walk over there, join Castiel and his friends for lunch, and pretend that it was normal. It wasn't normal. This wasn't normal.

He turned away from the crowd. The library was just down the hall to the right. Dean entered. His comfy leather chair was empty. Relief flooded his system. He sat down and opened his book. Dean Winchester truly was a cat.

.

* * *

><p>Castiel gave up looking for Dean when the lunch period had ten minutes left. The boy he had ran into yesterday, and had talked to in the morning, was nowhere to be found. Clearly he wasn't in the cafeteria. He scanned the tables at least five times in the last twenty minutes.<p>

"So, this kid you mauled yesterday, he's supposed to join us?" Ash asked. He had a straw tucked behind his right ear. Castiel didn't understand why he placed it there. Ash never used a straw to down his chocolate milk.

"I didn't maul him," Castiel said. "We just, kind of, I dunno, ran into each other."

"Nah," Ash said, removing the straw from its makeshift ledge before pointing it at his friend. "I think you did it on purpose to speak to this guy."

"I have to agree," a blonde girl piped in. She clearly had bleached her black hair. The dark roots were showing. "I bet you've seen him before, saw he wasn't looking, acted like you bumped into him, all just to get his name."

Castiel stared his friend down. "Shut up, Meg."

"What?" she asked. "It's only logical."

"And it's not the truth."

"Clarence, come on. You came out to us freshman year. I think we have the right to figure you set this all up because you've got some crush on this guy," Meg said.

"I've never seen him before, honest." Castiel held up his hands in defense.

"Okay, fine," Meg huffed. "But we're right, right?"

"About what?"

"That you think he's some Greek god or some shit," she said.

Castiel didn't reply. She was right. He had only talked to Dean twice; once in passing and the other on the few minutes' walk to school. Dean was definitely attractive. Once the bruise healed fully, Castiel knew he could easily make knees weak. Dean could make his knees weak.

Meg gasped. "You do!"

"Do what?"

"You have a crush on him," she exclaimed.

"Well, that figures," Ash said.

"Alright, fine," Castiel gave in. "He's quite good looking. Now, shut up about it. Okay?" The bell that signaled the end of lunch rang. Castiel and his two friends gathered up their garbage. He was relieved that this conversation came to a close. It was one thing to think of those beautiful green eyes as he jerked off. It was another to admit this as a crush to his friends.

But, how can he harbor this feeling when he couldn't even get this guy to join him for lunch? Did he say something to offend him? Or did Dean not have this lunch period after all? Castiel hoped that he had misheard Dean. That had to be it, he concluded.

The hall that led to Castiel's locker took him past the library. Out of curiosity, he looked through the glass doors. Castiel couldn't understand why people chose to sit in there during lunch. He wasn't apt to studying during the one time that he wasn't required to. Then he noticed him. Dean was sitting in one of the brown leather chairs. His book was open and he clearly wasn't following everyone else out into the hallway. "Shit, he blew me off," Castiel said.


	4. Chapter 4

Friday rolled around all too fast. Dean made it through the week without any incidents. He held his head low during school, and his mouth shut at home. Crowley kept his snarky comments to a minimum as Dean's bruise started to diminish. And Dean tried harder to avoid his father when he came home from the bar.

Throughout the rest of the week Dean had stayed in the library during lunch. He hadn't run into Castiel since Tuesday. He felt okay. Okay enough as he coasted through his classes. After having had a decent conversation with Castiel on the walk to school Tuesday, Dean had felt good inside, knowing that someone was interested in talking with him. It was hard to comprehend that someone actually wanted to be his friend. He kept people at bay, and received the same treatment right back. It was less hassle than trying to keep a relationship.

He shoved it off. Castiel wasn't going to be his friend. Once he'd find out more about Dean, he'd definitely realize that Dean wasn't worth being friends with. It happened on more than one occasion during his school years. Why change now?

On Friday morning Dean was reminded that parent teacher conferences were in the evening. The note was stuck to the fridge by a local pizza delivery magnet. Dean cringed when his father brought it up on the drive to school.

"Stay at school and do your homework, Dean," he told him as the family drove to school that morning. "I'll be there around five when the conferences start." Dean agreed, knowing that his day was going to be a long one. The middle school's conferences weren't until next week, so Sam had to meet his brother at the high school. The walk home would be too far for Sam to go at it alone, and the bus was out of the question. John wasn't going to let his youngest be on his own. "Thirteen is not old enough to stay home alone," John had informed Sam on many occasions. Dean didn't understand as he had to babysit his brother well before his thirteenth birthday. He didn't dare speak of this.

Dean did his best to do some of his homework in the library after his last class. Sam had met him there after three in the afternoon. At times Dean had to aid his brother with math problems, proof read his English essay, and explain the process of photosynthesis to the best of his ability. Dean barely did any of his own pile of homework before five o'clock.

Sam and Dean had met their father in the parking lot. He sat in the parked Impala. Dean watched him as he pulled out a flask from the inside pocket of his brown leather jacket. "Lovely," Dean said sarcastically. Sam hadn't been paying attention nor did he hear his brother's comment. He was watching a pretty dark haired girl and her blonde friend as they chatted together near the flag pole. John got out and greeted his sons.

"Sam, go wait in the library or cafeteria or something," John said when they entered the high school. Sam did as he was told and headed back towards the library that he had just left. Dean was alone with his father. At the main entrance the administration had set up a table. The principal, vice principal and school counselors were flipping through boxes of envelopes. Inside the envelopes were report cards. Great, Dean thought, his dad was going to see his grades before they even got to talk to his teachers.

John motioned for his son to lead the way. Dean reluctantly went up to the table to retrieve the envelope with his name typed on the front. He handed it to his father, watching him out of the corner of his eye as John slipped a finger under the flap. John pulled out the piece of paper. Dean cringed. "What the fuck is this?" John said rather loudly. Dean could feel those around him staring him down, watching to see what was happening. "Are you seriously failing every single class? Oh, wait, of course you're getting a fucking A in your photography class. That really makes me a proud father."

"Um, Sir," the principal found his way to the father and son. "Could you please refrain from swearing? We do have parents here with small children."

John turned to the man who had come between him and his son. "It's a free country, last time I checked. I didn't serve overseas as a goddamn Marine to get told to keep my mouth shut from a puny little faggot like yourself."

Dean tried hard to conceal his embarrassment. He attempted to fold in on himself. To make himself appear smaller. To hide inside his flannel shirt like a turtle in its shell. But, it was useless. John stood defiant beside the principal, his arms crossed against his chest. The principal then decided to back off. There was no way that he would continue talking to this father if he was going to attack him in this manner. John turned to his son. "Well?" Dean's body felt heavy. He had to tell his feet to move forward. Slowly he led the way towards his first class.

Mr. Wesson was sitting alone in his classroom. Dean sat in a chair that was placed in front of the teacher's desk, and prayed to any god out there to, "Please, please, please, let this go fast." John sat down next to his son.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester," Mr. Wesson said. His hand was held out towards the parent. John didn't reciprocate the hand shake. The teacher put down his arm, turning his gaze to the papers before him. "Well, I'd actually like to talk to you both today about Dean's attentiveness in class."

"What about it?" John gruffly said.

Mr. Wesson recovered, bringing his gaze to the parent. "He's not paying attention in class, opting to read novels during lectures and when he should be doing in class assignments. Frequently he forgets his textbook. I've let him utilize the ones that I keep on the bookshelf," he pointed over towards the window, "but, I feel that he needs to bring his own to class each day. I believe that he's an intelligent student who just needs some guidance towards his priorities."

John listened to the teacher, his arms still crossed. "Okay, then. What do you suggest to whip this boy into shape?" Dean closed his eyes. He hadn't looked anywhere else but at his boots. He really didn't want to hear his father bringing up whipping him into shape.

"Well," Mr. Wesson said, "I think he'd benefit from a tutor." Dean jolted his head towards his teacher at the word. He didn't need a tutor. There was no way he would agree to this.

"And you expect me to find one, and pay out of my own pocket, for my son to do better in school?" John retorted.

Mr. Wesson was quick with his answer. "We have a student based tutoring program. A fellow student will be assigned to him, to aid him in completing his assignments. And it won't just be for history. If he needs help in his other courses, that tutor will be there for him. I feel that this would benefit him greatly to have a scheduled block in his week to focus on his homework. And it would greatly aid in the assurance that he graduates in the spring."

"Good. Is that all?" John said.

"I believe so," Mr. Wesson said.

"Okay, then we're going." John got up from the chair. Dean followed. When they got into the hall, John stopped and faced his son. "Look at me, Dean." Dean looked up, but didn't fully look his father in the eye. "I said, look at me." John took his son's chin in his hand, forcing him to see eye to eye. "You're getting that tutor and you're graduating on time. No questions asked. You hear me?"

"Yes," Dean quietly said.

"I couldn't hear you."

"Yes, Sir," Dean said louder.

"Good," John said. He made his way back towards the library. "We're getting your brother and heading home."

.

* * *

><p>Castiel had stayed home Friday night. He didn't feel that he needed to accompany his father to parent teacher night. There was no reason for him to hear his teachers tell his father how intelligent and studious he was, all while comparing him to his older brothers. So, Castiel decided to lie in bed. His door was slightly ajar. Gabe's face peered in between the crack.<p>

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Sure, I guess," Castiel said, setting down his copy of Animal Farm.

Gabriel came into the room, and sat on his brother's bed. "What are you doing in here? It's too quiet. With Dad gone, I thought you'd be blasting some rap music or some shit."

"I don't really feel like it right now." Castiel sat up and leaned his back against the headboard. "What do you want?"  
>"I need your help," Gabriel said. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a piece of hard candy. "Want one?" he offered his brother. Castiel shook his head. Gabe popped the candy into his mouth. "It's about school. You know, Dad'll be talking to both our teachers. I just thought maybe you could help me."<br>"With what exactly?"

"Well, I'm not doing so hot in my classes. Mostly C's and a few spattering of B's. Here," Gabriel adjusted himself on the bed and pulled out a brochure from his back pocket. He handed it over to Castiel. "It's a culinary school. I've already applied and all that for next year. Just cross your fingers that I get in."

"Dad'll just tell you to keep praying on it," Castiel said.

"Eh," Gabriel said, waving it off. "Just back me up, alright?"

"Yeah, no problem," Castiel said. "Is dad coming back home before work?"

"I doubt it," Gabriel said. "He got there around five, and work starts at what? Seven?"

"Yeah, seven."

Gabriel stood up. "I'll go start dinner. Breakfast?"

"Pancakes and bacon?"

"You got it," Gabriel said with a smirk.

...

Saturday morning wasn't how Castiel wished his weekend would start. His father came home from work, crashed for a few hours, and then had the whole house up at ten in the morning. Castiel dreaded having to accompany his family to church. His father insisted that his sons would grow up in faith. Castiel pushed against it the best that he could.

Charles Novak fell further into Christianity when he was at his low. After his wife had passed, when Castiel was just a toddler, he found himself in a dark place. Alcohol wasn't the cure. Food wasn't either. Then, he stumbled upon his wife's bible. Within the next month, Charles had quickly read his way through the Old Testament. He then decided to raise his sons to become stronger in their faith.

Michael and Lucifer went along with their father's emersion into Christianity, finding that it aided in their grief over their mother's death at such a young age. Gabriel, on the other hand, wasn't opposed to religion or a higher power, but found it tiresome as they had to participate in their church's activities every weekend. Castiel hated every bit of it. He found himself rebelling against his father a little more every time he had to enter the church.

Castiel didn't read Acts. Apparently, Gabriel hadn't either. In the car, Gabe flipped through his copy, speed reading the chapters to get an idea of what it was about. "You better have read it, Gabriel," his father said. He could hear and see in his peripheral vision the thin pages being rapidly turned.

"Just recapping it, Dad," Gabriel said. It wasn't hard for him to lie with a candy stuck between his teeth and cheek.

"Castiel?" Charles asked his youngest. Castiel was sitting in the middle of the truck's cab.

"Yes," Castiel answered. He left it at that, hoping his dad didn't decide to have a pop quiz on the text on the car ride to the church. Each Saturday the bible study group looked over a chapter of the current book that they were reading. Charles always pushed for his sons to read every chapter beforehand. Castiel rarely ever opened his bible at home. Finishing his school assignments was enough to worry about.

"I had a nice chat with both of your teachers last night," Charles said. "Gabriel, we'll talk when we get home." Gabriel shared a look with his brother. Castiel could just read what Gabriel was thinking, pleading with him to help him out of the mess he created. "And Castiel," Charles continued, "I had a nice talk with your history teacher, Mr. Wesson. He said that he has a student who is in need of tutoring, though I didn't ask for the name. I guess he knew that you were involved with the program."

"Yeah," Castiel said. "I used his classroom last year."

"Mr. Wesson offered the use of his classroom again," Charles said. He drove down the main road. The family sat quietly, the only sounds coming from Gabriel's bible and the turn signal blinking on the dash. "You guys have it good, I hope you know that," Charles said, breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?" Castiel was curious as to what brought this up out of the blue.

"Well," Charles sighed. "There was this young boy with his father. They made quite the commotion by the report card table. The principal tried to calm the situation, but backed off easily, from what I could tell. I'm pretty sure the father was drunk."

"Really? At five in the evening?" Gabriel asked, looking up from his bible.

"There are some people out there who are so addicted to alcohol, that they need to keep drinking to function," Charles answered. "Though that function isn't the normal functioning of a sober person, mind you." He turned on his right blinker, turning the wheel to guide the truck down another street. "What really got to me though, that made me think that you both should be grateful for the father that you have, is when I was making my way to Mr. Wesson's classroom. I was just down the hall when I witnessed the same father and son. The father had his son's face in his hands, scolding him rather loudly."

"Do you know who it was?" Castiel asked. He was racking his brains trying to figure out who this guy could be. Perhaps he shared a class with him. Maybe it was someone who he'd never met. He made a mental note to look for this kid on Monday.

"I don't know, Cassie," Charles said. "Even if I knew, I don't think it's wise to give out names. Putting a name to them is gossip. So, we'll just leave it at that." Charles turned left into the church's parking lot. He turned off the engine. "I do want to make a prayer request, that you keep this boy in your hearts, and that the father will see the error of his ways. You don't have to pray that he'd find the Lord as his Savior. I just would like for you to ask God to watch over this boy. Okay?"

"Okay," Gabriel and Castiel said together. They stepped out of the cab of the truck. Luke had followed his father in his black Ford Taurus. Together the four men walked to the entrance of the church.


	5. Chapter 5

On Friday night, after only a single conference with one of Dean's teachers, his dad had taken off after letting his sons into the house. Dean watched as the black Chevy drove down the street, disappearing down the next block. He knew where his father was headed. The bar was a good ten minutes away. He was a frequent patron, wasting his paychecks on liquor and hops.

"I'm hungry," Sam whined. He sunk into the couch, turning on the television to some cartoon that Dean couldn't place a name too. It had a talking dog. Don't they all have talking dogs? After watching a few minutes of the show he concluded that it wasn't very funny and went into the kitchen to find something for dinner. In the fridge he found only eggs, milk, lunchmeat and beer. The freezer held a bit more promise as Dean didn't want to cook. Microwavable meals would have to do. He threw in some kind of chicken and vegetable dinner that he found. While it nuked, Dean searched desperately to find something for himself. There was little else besides popsicles, ice cube trays and French fries. "Fuck," he said.

"What is it?" Sam called from the living room. Dean didn't think he had heard him swear.

"Nothing," Dean replied. The microwave beeped. He placed the black plastic tray on a plate, grabbed a clean fork and hand delivered it to his brother. "If you want something to drink, get it yourself. I'll be in my room."

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'm fine," Dean said. He wasn't, but his brother didn't need to know.

Dean threw himself onto his bed. It was unmade, and the sheets hadn't been changed in at least three weeks. He couldn't gather up the strength to change them. It seemed like a daunting task. He rolled over. The pile of laundry was mounding on his carpet. Another thing he couldn't seem to accomplish. It was always a good day when he could pull himself to clean his room, do his laundry and put new sheets on his bed. This weekend didn't call for one of those days.

Dean closed his eyes. He tried to recall a time when it didn't seem so difficult to do simple chores for himself. It wasn't easy. All he could remember was taking care of Sammy, picking up after his father, and being the brunt of his dad's drunken nights. Dean did everything for his family. It was hard for him to imagine a day that he could dedicate to himself.

It was one of the reasons why Dean chose to sit alone in the library during lunch. He could tuck in a chair while immersing himself into a story of characters whose lives were either better off or worse than his own. Dean didn't care either way. All he needed was an outlet. One that didn't consist of reeling through his life on a daily basis. Books aided in forgetting his worries.

Dean reached over to his bedside table. He opened his drawer and pulled out a framed photograph. In it, a four year old was clinging to a woman. Her blonde hair was pulled back while a few strands framed her smiling face. She was squeezing the little boy, his face beaming at the embrace. He didn't know why he chose to look at the picture. Every time he saw it, it only made him more depressed. Dean put the picture back in its drawer. He curled up into a ball beneath his sheets, holding back the tears that were welling up in his eyes, as he drifted off to sleep.

In the morning Dean woke up to a loud thud coming from the kitchen. He pulled on some pajama pants over his boxers to investigate. It was his father. Standing at the counter, John was attempting to wash the dishes. In his state of drunkenness he had knocked over a dirty pan. Shit, Dean thought. Sam must have made a mess last night in his quest to keep eating. That boy was sprouting up faster than a weed.

John turned around. His eldest was standing on the living room carpet at the cusp of the linoleum. "What good are you if you can't even wash the fucking dishes?" John threw the blue and green sponge into the sink. Bubbles shot up from the impact. He stalked his way towards his son. Grabbing his son's jaw, he drew Dean's face up to look him in the eye. "You aren't good for anything, are you?" It was a rhetorical question. "Do you really expect me to come home after a long fucking week at work, to clean up the goddamn kitchen? This is the kind of shit that you need to do before I come home." John then vigorously let go of his son. In a split second, John backhanded his cheek. Dean held in his emotions, holding his breath as his father took off down the hall to his bedroom. The door slammed shut. Dean then exhaled. His face stung like little needles pricking at his skin. At least it wasn't another fist to an eye. Dean slowly went to the sink. He held back tears as he let the cold soapy water run down the drain.

When Dean finished putting away the dishes, he found his father passed out in bed. He could hear the man snoring in the dark, the blinds drawn shut to block out the light to lessen his hang over. Dean then gently creaked opened the door to his brother's room. Sam looked like a sleeping giant in his twin bed. He was outgrowing it quickly. Soon he'd need a bigger bed frame. A mattress fit for a moose. Dean figured they wouldn't be up until the afternoon.

Dean went into his own room. He navigated around the piles of clothes on his floor, moving around old school assignments. He found the tan canvas bag near his end table. He carefully took out his camera. It was a Nikon that he found for cheap at the Salvation Army. It came with the carrying case and was loaded with film that the previous owner had probably forgotten about. Dean had processed the film shortly after he found that it had been used. The photos weren't professional in the least, but they had made Dean interested in the family that appeared in the negatives. He never did develop the photos. The film sat in a shoe box under his bed. Dean loaded a new roll of film into the camera before slipping out of the house.

The elementary school was a few blocks down the main road. A good chunk of his photos for his class had come from his walks to the playground. Dean enjoyed sitting on the swing set, gently pushing off the ground with his feet. He would move slowly back and forth, the methodic rhythm relaxing his body. The fall was clearly making itself known. A chill wind was picking up. Dean pulled his hoodie tighter around himself. He didn't plan on staying out for very long.

On the way to the school he had found the perfect piece for his next project. A dead raccoon sat on the side of the road. Rigor mortis had set in quickly. One little leg stretched out to the sky. A morbid scene. Dean quickly looked for any passing cars or people. No one was around. He knelt, placed the camera's view finder to his right eye, and snapped a few pictures of the death scene at different angles. Dean crossed his fingers that his teacher wouldn't think he was mental for choosing this as his subject matter.

The playground ended up being empty. A chilly Saturday morning without a soul around. It was like the apocalypse had found its way to this small city. No, Dean was just letting his mind get the best of him. He placed his camera on a bench before sitting down on a swing. He shifted back and forth, his toes trailing through the woodchips.

"What are you doing here?" a male voice broke Dean's train of thought. He looked up to see someone he really didn't want to come across today. Someone he didn't want to come across ever. Oddly enough, he wasn't with his normal crew. He was alone. Alone and dressed in his usual uniform of black and grey.

"Photography class," Dean said, pointing towards his camera. Crowley didn't respond. He sat down on the seat next to Dean, mimicking his slow swinging movements. Dean couldn't bear to ask him why he was here. He just sat there wondering why the other teen would even want to join him in the first place.

"My dad wants me to work at the dealership with him after we graduate," Crowley said, breaking the silence. "I don't want to, but it seems inevitable. I really don't want to be a salesman. My father became one because of his father, and I'm next in line. It just fucking blows." He looked down right depressed. Dean was confused. Something had brought Crowley, his bully for most of his school career, to talk to him of all people. Why would Crowley confide in Dean to begin with? He looked at Dean and quickly registered the other teens' look of shock. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laying this on you."

"No," Dean coughed out. "It's fine."

"And I want to apologize for shitting on you about your father. Mine isn't any better, and I shouldn't have fucking said anything. It's just," Crowley continued, "I can't talk to my friends, you know? Al and Lilith would laugh me off the face of the earth if they heard me bitch and moan about my life. They see me as a tough guy. A guy that can take anything given to him. A guy that can easily shove shit onto other people."

"Crowley," Dean said.

"Is it too much to ask to be able to have a normal conversation with an old friend? I mean, do I have to talk to them like home life doesn't exist? Seriously. Is getting shit faced and high all there is?"

"Crowley," Dean said again.

"What?" He stopped swinging to look directly at Dean.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"'Cause you're here," Crowley answered.

Dean looked at him questioningly. "We don't actually talk."

"What? I can't start now?" Crowley started to push off the ground again. Both boys kept quiet. Dean joined him, using his legs to propel himself higher. Once they slowed down again, Crowley spoke up. "So, I saw you walking to school the other day with Castiel."

Dean drove his boots into the woodchips and dirt, abruptly stopping at the name. "You know him?"

"Yeah, I do," Crowley replied.

Dean's mind raced. What did he know about Castiel? How did he know him to beginning with? Friends? Family? No, that seemed rather farfetched. They looked nothing like family.

"Cassie is friends with my little sister, Meg," Crowley said. "Well, half-sister. Same dad, different mom. That's a whole 'nother story," Crowley said. "She's got some crazy crush on him. Constantly talking the kid up whenever she can. Sad for her, though."

"Why is that?" Dean quickly asked.

"I guess he came out a few years ago," he said. Dean's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his skull at that remark. Crowley laughed. "You didn't know?"

"I just met him," Dean said.

"It is rather obvious."

"I wouldn't know," Dean said.

"You wouldn't, would you?" Crowley said.

Dean looked at the boy next to him. "What does that mean?"

Crowley chuckled. "Never mind."

Dean wasn't about to press the issue. It was strange being near each other without Dean getting persecuted. Perhaps Crowley was more human than Dean gave him credit for. He looked at his watch. It was going on noon. "I should probably head home," Dean said.

"I'll walk with you," Crowley offered.

* * *

><p>It was Monday afternoon and Castiel knew that he had a tutoring session after school. He would meet this kid later that day, but he couldn't help but wonder who it was. It could be anyone. Many times he had to teach kids older than himself in classes that he didn't even have yet. They did well, he found, as long as they decided to put in the effort themselves. So this was how teachers felt, Castiel thought after his second tutoring student failed her Spanish exam after hours of studying. It was very frustrating.<p>

During his second hour Castiel was handed a note from his councilor. It read, "Meeting with new student for after school tutoring, 2:30pm, room 254." He pocketed the note. Castiel hadn't had to tutor anyone this year. It was almost the end of October, halfway through the fall semester, and Castiel thought it was about time for someone to need extra help. Especially since parent teacher night concluded Friday.

It wasn't his idea to tutor his fellow classmates. His father had signed him up for the afterschool program during his son's freshman year. He told his youngest that he was intelligent enough to teach even the average kids in this school. Castiel thought differently. He hardly considered himself as smart as his older brothers. Michael had tutored all through high school and still helps out those struggling in university. And Luke managed to sneak by with only aiding kids when he was a senior. Their father emphasized that it would look good on their college applications. Charles never failed to sign his son up for after school programs, much to Castiel's displeasure, to ensure that he would follow in Michael's footsteps.

The room that Castiel was to tutor in was in fact Mr. Wesson's classroom. Castiel had him for AP American history. It was a horrible subject, even though Castiel knew that Mr. Wesson was trying his hardest to make it interesting. The constitution can only be discussed so much before one would drift off to sleep. Castiel paused before the entrance of the classroom. He could hear the teacher talking to another man. Castiel easily placed a name to the voice. It was his chemistry teacher, Mr. Smith.

"Friday night."

"We'll see."

"Oh, come on," Mr. Wesson said. "You're mother doesn't fly in until Saturday afternoon, I think you can manage a night out."

"Alright, fine," Mr. Smith agreed.

Castiel slowly walked into the classroom. Mr. Smith was sitting on the desk, his feet dangling like a child who was too small for his seat. The history teacher was in a rather close proximity to him, standing in between the other man's legs. It was a rather intimate moment that Castiel had just walked in on. He paused at the sight. When Mr. Wesson noticed Castiel, he reacted quickly, backing away from the chemistry teacher with precision. It was like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing. Both hands stuck in the cookie jar.

"Castiel," Mr. Wesson said upon seeing the teen in the door way. "You're here to tutor." He said it like he had forgotten and was reminded of this fact by his presence. "It's not until two thirty."

"I know," Castiel replied. "I was just passing by, thought I'd drop my stuff here."

"Well, have at it," Mr. Wesson said. "We'll leave you to your session. If you need anything, I'll be in Mr. Smith's classroom." Mr. Smith jumped off the desk, chuckling at how flustered his partner was at being caught by a student.

"Okay," Castiel said. He placed his backpack on a desk top. He had a good fifteen minutes before he had to meet up with the kid he was to tutor. Castiel pulled out a couple dollars from his pocket. Cheetos were calling his name from the cafeteria's vending machine.

...

"Wait. You're who I'm tutoring?" Castiel exclaimed when he walked back into the classroom.

Dean was slumped in his desk. He tried to not look at Castiel directly. This was the last person Dean thought would have entered the classroom. "I really don't need help," Dean replied.

"Then why am I even bothering?" Castiel sat down at the desk next to Dean where he had placed his backpack. "Just my luck it's you."

Dean turned on him. "What do you mean by that?"

"It's nothing," Castiel said. He brought out his notebook from his backpack.

"It's not nothing," Dean said. He couldn't believe what he was saying. There was just something about Castiel that called for him to speak his mind. "If you're supposed to tutor me, then shouldn't we at least be a little bit cordial?"

Castiel sighed. "Fine. Why are you here?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"What do you need help with, dumb ass?"

Dean turned towards the front of the class, and hunched in his seat. "My dad thinks I need it because I'm failing."

"What are you failing?" Castiel was becoming concerned. It didn't seem like a kid who reads classic novels could be doing terrible in his studies.

"Everything," Dean said, bringing his gaze towards the other teen.

"Alright," Castiel said. "What do you want to start with?"

"You're going to help me?" Dean didn't get it. First, Castiel was coming at him like he was a nuisance. And now he was being all concerned about Dean, whom he barely knew. For what exactly?

"Well, I guess I kinda have to," Castiel said. "If I don't, then…"

"Then what?" Dean asked.

"It's nothing," Castiel said. "Let's just get this over with."

The boys dived right into Dean's assignments. Quickly it became more of a study hour than a tutoring session. He soon found out that Dean was in fact very intelligent. He didn't need afterschool tutoring after all, Castiel thought as he watched Dean scribble down the correct equations for his algebra assignment with little difficulty.

"Dean, can I ask you something?" Castiel said after Dean put away his math textbook.

"What?" Dean said slowly, scared by the way he was approached.

"Why did you blow me off last week?"

"What?"

"You blew me off. When I asked you to join me at lunch," Castiel said.

"Oh," Dean said under his breath.

"So?"

"I didn't blow you off," Dean replied.

"Then why did I see you in the library?" Castiel asked.

Dean tried to look at Castiel. His blue eyes were staring right at him looking for an answer. "I couldn't do it."

"Do what? Make a new friend? Join me and my friends for lunch? Eat lunch? Or could you just not be seen with me?" Castiel was hoping that it wasn't the latter.

"It's not any of that,"

"Then what is it?"

"Fine," Dean said defensively. He sighed. "I walked into the cafeteria and couldn't handle being in there for longer than a few minutes." Castiel didn't say anything. He gave Dean an odd head tilt as his eyes squinted partially shut. Dean heavily sighed again, and looked down at the pen in his hand. "Can we just finish this?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, okay."


	6. Chapter 6

**Note: I work tomorrow night, and I plan on being busy on Sunday, so I'm posting this on Friday. As of now, I have 18 completed chapters. I'm proud of this, as it's my longest project that I've ever worked on. I hope you all like it, and thanks in advance for taking your time to read this. It makes me feel like I'm not doing this in vain. If you followed the first attempts at me posting/ writing this fic, than you can see the differences among the bits that I had earlier. I quite like how everything new I added, added a new dimension to the whole plot and characterization. In the spring, it will be a whole year since I started on this fic. Shit. Wow.**

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* * *

><p>Dean couldn't believe that he pretty much told another soul that he had a panic attack. He didn't completely explain it to Castiel, though he figured that it wouldn't be that difficult of a conclusion to draw. People always looked at him oddly whenever his anxiety peaked. He hated the glares that he received. It was like he had a contagious disease that kept people from acknowledging him. Sammy didn't even know that he had them regularly. It really wasn't something that he needed to inform his brother about. And of course he wasn't ever planning on telling his father. So why did he basically tell Castiel? It's not like he knew the kid well enough to have felt the need to confide in him this easily. The only other person who did know about Dean's anxiety was Mrs. Bradbury, his school counselor. She had made him feel safe on many occasions, letting him talk his problems out between sobs, of which she promised no one would find out about. He didn't want anyone to know he cried. Like Crowley and his posse. And especially his father; the only person he would omit when he talked to Mrs. Bradbury.<p>

The next day at school wasn't any different than the rest. Dean glided through the first half of his day with ease. After their conversation at the playground, Dean didn't expect Crowley to continue to be nice to him. Thankfully, Crowley wasn't at school so far this week to comment on Dean's choice in clothing. He didn't do his own laundry, opting for whatever he deemed to not smell too foul. His AC/DC t-shirt was slightly stained, his jeans were ripped, and Dean was grateful that his boots hid his mismatched black and white socks. He tried hard to not get too close to anyone in hopes that no one could tell.

At lunch Dean brought his book with him to the library. He was almost finished with reading Catch-22 with less than a hundred pages left. It was quickly becoming a favorite, and Dean hoped to finish it by the end of the week. He slid himself into the same leather chair that he adored and opened to the next chapter. Dean read one page before he heard someone near him.

"Can I sit with you?" Dean looked to his right to see Castiel. He was pointing to the chair opposite where he was sitting.

"Yeah, I guess," Dean replied. Rather quickly, Dean realized that he should have probably threw in some of his clothes with his brothers.

Castiel sat down. "I thought since you weren't comfortable with joining me, I'd join you."

Dean put his finger between the pages, closing the book. "Oh, okay," he stuttered. He was starting to become a little uneasy as his lunchtime plans were being thwarted. Was it too much to ask to be left alone to read for thirty minutes?

"I'm not bothering you, am I?" Castiel titled his head to the right. It must be a tick of his, Dean thought.

"No," Dean said quickly. "No, it's okay."

Castiel took out a novel from his backpack. Dean opened his book to the page he left off at. They sat in silence, reading a few pages each before Castiel felt he needed to speak. It was becoming too quiet. "I know we don't meet after school today," Castiel paused to compose himself. Ever since he laid eyes on Dean, he felt something new in the depths of his stomach. It was a feeling that he couldn't describe, but Castiel quickly concluded that being near him made that feeling intensify. It was a feeling that he was beginning to like. "I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out instead of doing homework."

Dean looked up from his book. "Hang out?" He wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

"Yeah," Castiel said, "hang out like watching TV or a movie or something."

"Um," Dean looked down at his boots. "I guess." Dean really wanted to become friends with Castiel. The only thing that was holding him back was the thoughts that started to buzz around his brain. His anxiety started to stir. He tried hard to breathe deeply, to steady himself from Castiel seeing him in this state. Dean looked up and noticed Castiel was looking at him with concern in his eyes.

"You okay?" Castiel asked.

Dean easily lied. "Yeah, fine."

"You sure? You look pale."

"I'm okay," Dean said.

Castiel sighed. "This isn't going to be easy to get you to get out of your comfort zone, is it?"

"Maybe a little bit," Dean said, his breathing became more controlled. "I actually just have to figure out what to do about my brother."

"He can't just go home? He's in eighth grade, right?"

"Dad won't let him stay at home by himself," Dean replied.

"Seriously?" Castiel sat up, leaning in towards Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Can't you tell him to go to a friends' house or something? I mean, what do you normally do when you have afterschool plans?"

"I don't normally have afterschool plans," Dean informed.

"Seriously?" Castiel asked.

"Seriously," Dean said.

"Well, what did he do yesterday?"

"Dad picked us up here, at three thirty, when I was done with tutoring."

"Then just tell your Dad to just pick him up, you're going to a friends' house," Castiel offered.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Dean said. He didn't want to think about what his father would say if he even suggested having a friend whose house he was visiting.

Castiel didn't understand. "Why?"

You don't know my father, Dean thought. "I'll just say I'm studying more afterschool."

"Good," Castiel said. At least it was something. "I'll meet you outside by the flag pole." Castiel sat back. The two boys read together until the bell rang. Dean tried to concentrate, but he couldn't help but to worry about calling his Dad. What if he saw right through his lie? Or what if Dean came home to even more shit from his Dad for leaving the house for the evening? What about Sam? He can't fend for himself or help their father out when he comes home drunk. When is he going to be home anyway? Shit, Dean thought. This was going to be a terrible idea.

* * *

><p>Castiel was standing against the flag pole. As soon as the final bell rang he practically flew to his locker. He was going to meet Dean there, he just knew it. Dean did sound like he was planning on calling his father to tell him he was going to be studying after school. Right? He had to show up, Castiel conceded. He was starting to feel uneasy as he waited. Great, he was going be blown off. Again. Castiel looked at his watch. Okay. Only ten minutes passed since the last bell. Dean could still show up, Castiel tried to console himself. He looked up to see the teenager walk out of the main entrance. His black backpack was slung over his right shoulder. Castiel couldn't help but smile at him as he walked over.<p>

"Called your Dad?" Castiel asked Dean.

"I did," Dean replied. "He seemed to get that I was going to study more."

"That's good," Castiel said. "But, I don't know how much studying we're going to get done." Shit, he thought. That came out the wrong way. Dean looked at the other boy questioningly. "I mean, we're going to be watching mindless television and getting my brother to bring home pizza from his work."

"I like pizza," Dean said, a small smile forming on his face. At that, the two walked on down the drive to the middle school. They waited for Sam to inform him about Dean hanging out with Castiel.

"Just don't tell Dad. Tell him we're doing a school project or something," Dean told Sam.

"Fine," Sam sighed. "If you get in trouble for lying to him, it's on you."

It's always on me, Dean thought. "Just keep your mouth shut."

Castiel and Dean left Sam sitting on the curb. They walked down the sidewalk. It didn't take that long for Dean to start to feel comfortable with Castiel. He couldn't help but to laugh out loud when Castiel started to explain what his friend Ash did in their Chemistry class.

"He then went up to the magnetic periodical table of the elements that Mr. Smith has, and rearranged a few of them to read, 'LuBrICaTiON', and Mr. Smith didn't even notice all throughout his lecture. It was a riot." Castiel got out the best he could between his own laughter. "Oh, speaking of Mr. Smith. Before our session I caught Mr. Wesson and him."

"Doing what?" Dean asked.

"Kind of being intimate, I guess," Castiel said. "I think they're dating."

"That's interesting," Dean said.

Castiel stopped. Dean continued on for a few steps before he realized his friend wasn't next to him anymore. He turned and faced Castiel. "How do you mean, interesting?"

"I dunno." Dean shrugged.

"Good way, or bad way?" Castiel asked.

Dean scratched the back of his head. "Good way?" He then quickly added. "I'm not opposed to gays, if that's what you're implying."

"Then good, cause, if you were then this wouldn't work out," Castiel said, gesturing from himself to Dean. He began walking, passing the other teen without looking him in the eye.

"Wait," Dean said as he caught up to Castiel. "I talked to Crowley the other day."

Castiel spun on the spot. "Since when are you buddy-buddy with him?"

"Since never," Dean said. "We were both at the elementary school, getting away from home for a bit, and we talked. That's it."

"About what? Huh? What did he tell you? Did he tell you some crazy story about me?"

"No," Dean protested. "All he said was that you're gay, and commented on how it was obvious and how stupid I am for not seeing it."

"You're okay with that?" Castiel asked wearily.

"Definitely." Dean and Castiel began to walk further down the sidewalk together. "You know, Crowley is a jack ass."

Castiel agreed. A few minutes later Castiel stopped in front of his house. "My place is right here." Castiel felt a bit ashamed at someone seeing where he lived. It wasn't the most glamorous home on the block. The lawn still hadn't been mowed and the weeds were choking out the flowers. He sucked it up and showed Dean into his house.

The living room was empty. Gabriel hadn't made his way home yet, and Castiel took it upon himself to get the television first. "What do you like to watch?" Castiel asked. He flopped himself onto the sofa. Dean sat down next to him.

"I really don't watch much TV," Dean said.

"Really?" Castiel asked. "Okay. Well, since my Dad's not home, we can watch whatever. When he gets home, we have to go and find something else to do."

"Why?" Dean was curious.

"He can be kind of an ass about the shit they play. He'd rather we watch G rated movies, religious programing and my least favorite, Veggie Tales. Seriously," Castiel said as Dean looked at him oddly, "Its fucking vegetables talking about Christian morality."

"I've never heard of it," Dean said.

"Be glad." Dean heard a voice coming from the front door. "Cassie, who's this?"

"Dean, Gabriel; Gabriel, Dean," Castiel said. This was the most introduction he was going to do between his brother and his new friend. Dean recognized him from a while back in either a math class or gym. Gabriel's antics weren't easy to forget.

"Oh, that Dean," Gabriel said. He had a sly smirk on his face.

"Shut up, Gabe," Castiel said. "Go make out with your pillow, or something."

Gabriel looked at his brother with curiosity. "And what are you going to be doing in here? Hmm?"

"Just get out of here." Dean eyed Castiel. "He's a dick," Castiel said. He flipped through the channels. They sat together on the couch as they watched Seinfeld. Dean really liked how random the characters were on this show. It was really hilarious how they managed to get into trouble rather quickly, without much resolve when the credits rolled. Kramer was clearly a favorite of Castiel's, Dean noted, as he'd laugh whenever the guy slid into Seinfeld's apartment with his arms flailing. Dean found himself watching Castiel after a while, enjoying the smile that played on his face. It easily put one on his own.

A couple episodes later, Castiel turned the television off. It was nearly five o'clock. He didn't want his father to come home and see him withering away with sitcoms. The two boys joined Gabriel in the kitchen. He had started to pull out pots and pans from the cabinets, clanging them together like an odd sort of orchestra. It peeked their interest upon seeing Gabriel standing at the counter surrounded by an assortment of kitchen things. Out in front of him sat a variety of vegetables, a giant bag of some kind of rice, and a whole chicken still in its packaging. "I'm making dinner," Gabriel said, beaming at his little brother.

"We can see that," Castiel remarked. "What are you doing with all this stuff?" He picked up some kind of greenery that clearly wasn't anything that he could name off hand.

"Put the kale down," Gabriel said, emphasizing each word. Castiel tossed the kale back on the counter top. Gabriel went over towards Dean. "I hope you can join us for dinner. I'm making a lovely lemon and herb chicken with mushroom risotto and a simple salad of greens." He recited the menu like he was a waiter at a fancy restaurant. Gabe turned to his little brother. "It's my way of getting Dad to agree to let me go to culinary school next year."

"Can you stay?" Castiel asked Dean, ignoring his brother's last statement.

Dean shuffled his feet. "I dunno, maybe."

"When does your Dad expect you to be home?"

"I'd like to be back at least before seven." Dean knew his father would be royally pissed if his eldest son wasn't back to watch Sam. He figured his Dad would have nightly plans away from the two boys. John was predictable in that regard.

"Well, Luke should be home about five thirty, we can eat, and then he can take you home," Castiel said.

"Okay." Dean figured he'd have to agree because this plan came all too easy to Castiel.

"Sweet," Castiel said.

"Now, get out of my kitchen!" Gabriel said while brandishing a spatula in the boys' direction.

At dinner, Dean met Castiel's father. Charles quickly recognized the boy that his son had just recently befriended as the kid that was getting reprimanded by his father at parent teacher night. Dean caught Charles looking at him a few times during the evening. It seemed odd, the continuous glances in his direction, and they were starting to make him feel slightly uncomfortable. Dean tried to not look at him when he felt his gaze, keeping himself occupied with eating.

The dinner that Gabriel had prepared was far better than anything Dean had ever eaten. It was pretty awkward sitting at the table with the whole Novak clan. He always figured that there were families out there that ate together like this. It just never occurred to him that he would ever partake in this custom.

Dean was even more thrown off when they all folded their hands for prayer. Castiel had said the prayer before they ate. Dean followed his friend, mimicking his folded hands in his lap. He wasn't much for religion, having never grown up with any sort of faith. But, he did know the basics about God, the story of Jesus' birth, and his death around Easter. That was all he knew. There was no bible in his house. And John would be caught dead stepping into a church. Dean closed his eyes as Castiel spoke. He asked God for the typical things that Dean assumed people prayed for; to watch over their family, to guide them through their days in his light, and to help them get closer to him. When Castiel started to praise God, Dean took at peek at his friend. He didn't expect this to be a part of the prayer. Castiel's voice sounded unenthusiastic, almost normal in his speech, and his body was relaxed. Dean thought he looked like he didn't take this completely serious. Then, it ended. Everyone said, "Amen", and Dean felt wrong for saying it out loud. He opted to keep it to himself.

When dinner was finished, the boys stole away to Castiel's bedroom. "Cas," Dean said after he sat at Castiel's desk. "I didn't know you're Christian."

"It's not something I discuss," Castiel said. He was laid out on his bed, arms and legs radiating from his body.

"How come?" Dean asked.

Castiel made an odd grunting noise. "I'll talk about it with you some other time."

"Okay," Dean said. "So, did you mean what you said?"

"When?" Castiel sat up to look at his friend.

"When you prayed," Dean said. "You asked God to," Dean rubbed the back of his neck, "to watch over me and Sammy."

"Yeah, so?"

"Did you mean it?" Dean stared right into Castiel's bright blue eyes.

Castiel didn't look away with his response. "I did."


	7. Chapter 7

Luke drove Dean to his house just shortly after seven in the evening. His car was nice, Dean concluded, after sitting down in the passenger seat. It was relatively clean even though it smelled like an odd mixture of cigarettes and an evergreen. Dean noted the green paper tree dangling from the rear view mirror. It shifted back and forth as Luke hit bumps in the street. His attempt at shielding the odor of his bad habit.

"You know, Dean," Luke said when they stopped at a red light. He slipped a pack of smokes out of his jacket pocket. He lit one up, blowing out a stream of gray smoke towards the opened window. The smell of tobacco was familiar to Dean. "I think Cassie really likes you."

"What do you mean?"

Dean watched as the older man took a second drag before tapping on the gas at the green light. "He's never really brought friends home," Luke said.

"Really? He's talked about Ash quite a bit."

Luke shook his head and flicked the ashes out the window. "Nope. Never met the kid."

Huh, Dean thought. That one day at lunch, in the school cafeteria, Castiel looked comfortable with his group of friends. Dean couldn't imagine that these kids had never been around Castiel's family. They were laughing like old friends who knew everything about the other. Perhaps Dean was missing something. It wasn't like he knew what it felt like to know another soul in that manner.

He guided Luke down several streets. Luke was driving a few miles per hour over the speed limit. Dean's stomach started to knot up as they approached his house. It was an ache that started in his gut and spread throughout his body. His mind started to reel. Thoughts of whether his father was home or not, the possible outcomes of either scenario, or how much trouble he could be in drifted in and out of his brain. Then he realized. Another panic attack. In a foreign car. With a guy he just met. On his way home from hanging out with a kid that he ran into last week. Wonderful.

"It's that one," Dean managed to say, pointing to the one story house on the end of the block. "The one with the black Impala."

"That's a pretty sweet car," Luke said. He pulled up behind the Chevy.

"It's my Dad's," Dean replied. He took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Thanks for driving me home."

"No problem," Luke said. "You okay?"

"Yes," Dean said. He opened the door, backpack in hand.

"You sure? You look like you just saw a ghost."

Dean took in another deep breath. "I'm fine. Thanks again." He shut the car door. Slowly Dean walked up the porch steps. He could hear his father in the living room. He shut his eyes and walked into the house. John was standing in the living room, a beer bottle clutched in his hand.

"And where the fuck were you?" John said.

"I told you I was studying after school," Dean replied shakily.

"When was that, huh?" John took a gulp of his beer.

"Just before school let out. I called you at work to tell you what I was doing."

John staggered towards his son. Dean hadn't moved from his spot on the rug that sat in front of the door. "Don't lie to me, boy."

"I'm not lying." Dean couldn't get himself to speak without sounding unsteady. His hands were starting to shake. Dean wanted to run to his room, but his father was in front of him, blocking him from moving forward. The only way out was behind him and the door seemed to be just out of reach.

"You're lying to me," John said. "You weren't at the high school. You left your brother, on his own, outside on the fucking curb. For what? Some kid from school?"

Dean suddenly felt a chill go down his spine. Sam told his father about Castiel. How? Sam promised Dean that he wouldn't say anything. Dean squinted his eyes tightly as his thoughts raced.

"Tomorrow you go straight to the middle school, and come straight home with Sammy. You hear me?" Dean nodded that he heard. "Go to your fucking room. I'm done with you," John said. He stepped away from his son, letting him into the house. He downed his beer in one last gulp. Dean walked down the hall towards his room. As he made to close his bedroom door, he heard his father's keys jingling, and the slamming of the front door.

A few minutes later Dean crawled under his sheets. There was a knock on his door. "Can we talk?" Sam said in a small voice.

"Sure. Turn on my light." He rolled over to face his brother. The light switch was turned on. Dean bolted upright when he saw his brother's face. "What happened?" Dean went to Sam and tried to grab his face to see his eye better. There was significant swelling, and a bruise was forming. An all too familiar sight.

Sam swatted his brother's hand away. "It's nothing."

"Fuck you, it's nothing," Dean said. "When did he do this?"

"When do you think?" Sam asked.

Dean quickly put two and two together. "Is that why he knew where I was?"

Sam looked at the carpet of his brother's room. He couldn't bear to look Dean in the eye. The betrayal of his older brother hurt worse than his face. "Yeah."

"Great," Dean said. He collapsed onto his bed. "Go ice it for like, half an hour or something. I'll check it out in the morning when we get to school to make sure he didn't fuck up your eye."

"Thanks, Dean." Sam quietly said.

"Just go to bed." Dean crawled back into the fetal position beneath his sheets. The door shut. Dean rubbed the tears out of his eyes. Their father never laid his hands on Sam. Never did Dean think that he would resort to it, knowing that Dean was always there to take the burden. Dean wasn't there. He left Sam alone with their dad. And Sam never had to deal with his drinking on his own like this. Dean made a promise to himself to never leave Sam. This wasn't going to happen to his baby brother again. And where was God when Castiel asked him to watch over Sammy?

...

John dropped off his sons at school the next morning. He was still drunk, reeking of whiskey and cigarette smoke. The patent odor of the local bar. Dean felt nauseous sitting next to his father. After years of being around him, Dean still wasn't used to it. The anxiety that came with not knowing how he'd be was aggravating. He'd either pass out somewhere in the living room, pick fights with Dean over trivial issues, or on some occasions, come home later the next day. It wasn't hard to imagine John sitting in a cell at the police station. Dean remembered one of the deputies had referred to John as the town drunk.

Dean stopped his brother before he could slip inside the building. "I need to see your eye."

"It's fine," Sam said. He was trying to get by without his brother doting on him.

Dean grabbed his brother's face. Sam must have had a growth spurt recently because he was clearly a good two inches taller than him. "Scoot down a bit, Godzilla." Sam groaned at the terrible nickname. He got eye level with Dean so that his older brother could get a good look at the bruise. It wasn't as bad as the last one Dean had received, thankfully. The bruising was more of a blue, and Sam's eye ball was slightly red from irritation. "You can see alright out of it?"

"Yes, mom," Sam said sarcastically.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean retorted, letting go of his brother. "Just go see the nurse before class. Make sure there isn't any damage."

"Did you see the nurse when you had you're black eye?" Sam asked without much thought.

"I didn't need to, it wasn't that bad," Dean said.

"But it was worse than mine," Sam said.

"Just go see the nurse."

"Fine," Sam said. "You're such a jerk sometimes."

"Yeah, I know. It's my duty."

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><p>Castiel couldn't find Dean. He wasn't in the library. He definitely wouldn't be in the cafeteria. And there was no way he was outside in the rain. It was one of those fall days where the rain wasn't planning on letting up, adding to the doom and gloom of the coming holiday. Halloween was next week. Castiel wanted to ask Dean to come with him to a party. He had his costume planned out, and he couldn't wait to tell Dean. But, Dean wasn't around.<p>

The rain was a gentle drizzle when the high school let out. Castiel decided that he'd walk to the middle school to find Dean's brother, Sam. Perhaps he knew where his big brother had been all day. Castiel found who he had been searching for when he arrived by the entrance. "Dean, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, hi," Dean said upon seeing Castiel.

"I looked everywhere, where were you?" Castiel asked.

Dean was confused. "Why were you looking for me?"

"We're friends, friends find each other to talk, to hang out," Castiel started to list. Dean didn't say anything in return. "You do consider me to be your friend, right? This isn't some kind of wasted effort on my part, is it?"

Dean avoided the questions like a politician, opting to back track to the one he wanted to answer. "I didn't go the library today." Castiel glared at Dean, waiting for more information. "I went to the councilor's office."

"Why?"

"I felt like shit, and I didn't know what else to do," Dean said. His gaze stayed focused on his boots. "I missed a few classes because I ended up falling asleep in Mrs. Bradbury's office."

"She let you do that?"

"She's cool with it." Dean added, "On occasion."

The boys heard the rumble of the Impala's engine. Dean's father had showed up a half hour earlier today. John was determined to have both of his boys home this evening. "You should probably leave," Dean said when he saw his Dad parking the car.

"I don't have to," Castiel said.

"Then I should." Dean turned to start making his way to the Chevy.

Castiel grabbed his friend by the bicep and turned him around. "Can I just ask you something real quick?"

"What?" Dean asked.

"There's this Halloween party next Friday night. Can you come?"

"I dunno," Dean said.

"Well that isn't going to work," Castiel said defiantly. "Ask your Dad; beg, plead, grovel. Do whatever you have to do. You're going with me to this."

"I'll see what I can do," Dean said quietly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Note: Massive apologies. It's been at least a month since I posted a chapter. My laptop decided to crap out on me. I let it sit alone in my room for the last month without me touching it. Today was the first day that I decided to attempt to use her. She seems okay. I'll update more chapters today, or this week, to appease you lovely readers. I feel bad. I was planning on keeping a solid update every weekend, perhaps I'll start up again this week since my laptop has been miraculously cured. Enjoy!**

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><p>Dean's father made a gruff noise as his son sat down in the Impala. "That the kid?"<br>"Yes," Dean replied.

"What's his name?" John asked. Dean was taken aback by his father's sudden interest in his social life.

"Cas," Dean replied.

"Is that some sort of nickname?" He tilted his head, looking at Dean through the corner of his eye.

"Yes, it's short for Castiel. Castiel Novak." Dean added his last name figuring that his father didn't know the family. The city was small, but it wasn't small enough to know everyone off hand. Perhaps his dad would be okay with him and Castiel.

"I went to school with a Novak," John said. "Religious family, from what I can remember. Decent folk. You could do worse with friends." Dean didn't respond. He stared at his father in curiosity at the words he was speaking. Could he really be approving of Dean's choice in friends? Even after his freak out over Dean leaving Sam? John was a totally different person intoxicated.

Dean was jarred out of his questioning mind when Sam pulled open the back door to the car. He sat down without a word, noticing that there was little tension in the Impala for a change. It seemed odd. Sam chocked it up to a good day. They were few and far between these days.

John stayed home that night as an attempt at keeping his boys in the house. Dean threw a quick dinner together for the family of rice and baked chicken. It wasn't anything special. Dean sat quietly watching his father for any sign of approval. Any sort of emotion towards the meal would have been enough for Dean. There wasn't even a grunt.

Sam finished first and left his plate on the table. Dean mentally pictured his brother's head exploding, brain matter littering the walls and ceiling. He quickly erased his thoughts when he realized who would be scrubbing down the mess. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea.

"Snap out of it, boy," John said.

"Sorry," Dean replied as he refocused on his plate of barely touched food.

"You're thinking too hard over there."

Dean figured that he'd better speak up while his dad was still semi-sober. Three beers were water to the man. "Can I ask you something?"

John downed the last gulp of his beer. "What is it?"  
>"You know my friend, Cas," Dean started to say. He paused. Perhaps this was a bad idea. He took in a deep breath. "He invited me to this Halloween party next week."<p>

"You can go," John said. "One thing." He looked his son square in the eye. "You come home before one and you have to take Sammy." Dean didn't want to correct his father for making two points. So, he agreed. Dean was happy that he actually had plans for the holiday. Now all he needed was a costume.

Dean sat in the same desk he had sat in every Monday after school since he started his tutoring sessions with Castiel. Mr. Wesson was sitting at his desk correcting papers silently, while Dean tried to look over his notes for one of his classes. Which subject it was, he couldn't recall. It was all a jumble of letters like Dean had Latin sitting in front of him. Maybe if he read it backwards he could banish homework to hell. Dean looked up and caught his teacher's gaze.

"Mr. Wesson, can I talk to you about something?" Dean asked while he had his attention. The conversation Dean had with Castiel about his teacher was still fresh in his mind. "I don't know who else to talk to about this, but I thought maybe you could help, and if you can't, I understand, it's just something that's been bothering me for a while now, and I really feel like maybe you could help me figure things out, 'cause I'm not sure about this myself, and I was hoping that you could help me," Dean said without a breath.

Mr. Wesson interrupted the student, "Slow down, Dean. You're not making much sense. Breathe." He stood up from his chair. "What is it?" Mr. Wesson crossed his arms as he leaned his butt against the front of his desk.

Dean took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "I was gonna talk to Mrs. Bradbury, but I think she's too old to understand."

Mr. Wesson chuckled. "She's not that old. Her oldest daughter goes to this school. I think she's a junior."

"And I can't talk to my dad about this." Dean didn't have to elaborate on the subject as Mr. Wesson had the pleasure of meeting the man at parent teacher conferences. Dean looked up at his teacher, gathering his courage to speak.

"What's the matter, Dean?" Mr. Wesson's mind wandered to the worst. He assumed rightly that it was Dean's father who had laid hands on him earlier in the semester.

"I know that I like girls, but over the years, I've had," Dean paused and stared at the linoleum, "feelings for guys." Dean's last words were spoken just above a whisper. Mr. Wesson didn't reply, so Dean continued. "Deep down I know it's not right, not normal, but I can't help it."

"It isn't wrong, Dean. I don't want you to think that it is. So, whoever told you that doesn't understand. They don't know anything more than their bigoted, judgmental beliefs." He looked directly at his student. "I came out to my family when I was roughly your age."

"Wait, you're…," Dean started to say. Castiel had guessed correctly.

"Yes, I am," his teacher said. "I thought my parents were going to hate me forever, but I lucked out. They love me for who I am, regardless of my sexual preference."

"I don't think I'd be as lucky," Dean wanted to say out loud. Instead, he kept his mouth shut. Dean couldn't ignore the words his father had spoken years prior.

John, Sam and Dean were at a mall buying back to school clothes when Sam pointed out two people. Sam was six at the time. His life was consumed with action figures, Legos and talking animal cartoon movies. Anything outside of this realm, Sam had to tug at his father's shirt sleeve, to pester him to answer his questions. He was a bright boy, and always needed to learn more about how things worked in the world. Little had changed over the years. As Dean got older he grew more annoyed by his brother's constant enquiries. Sometimes they would lead down the wrong path, causing Dean to want to shake Sam senseless.

"Dad," Sam had said, grabbing John's arm to gain his attention. "Why are those two men holding hands? Are they friends?" Dean had briefly shut his eyes, fearing what the answer was going to be, as John bent down to face his youngest son. He had gestured for Dean to come in closer.

"They're homosexuals, gays, queers, faggots," John barely explained to Sam. He then looked directly at Dean and back at Sam with a stern expression on his face. "It ain't right. You got that?" Sam nodded, though he didn't fully understand what connotation those words had held. "Good, 'cause I don't want either of my sons to turn out queer. It's disgusting and it ain't right. " John turned his gaze directly to Dean. His next words had left an impression on him, and were still running through his mind. "If you turn out like that, I'd disown you in a heartbeat."

When Dean first became aware of his feelings, he was angry with himself. His father's words would ring through his ears every time he had thoughts that he knew weren't normal. And he knew deep down what his father would do to him if he found out he was even thinking these thoughts. As he became friends with Castiel, and after learning a certain thing about him from Crowley, Dean's feelings for the same gender started to rise back to the surface.

"Dean," Mr. Wesson said. "Dean." He was shaken from his thoughts.

"Sorry," Dean replied.

"You all right?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Shoot," his teacher said.

"There's this guy I kinda like, I just don't know how to go about, you know," Dean said, fumbling on his words. He couldn't believe he was asking his history teacher these sort of questions.

"Well, okay, how about you start by finding out if this guy is also into guys," Mr. Wesson said.

"He does," Dean quickly replied.

"Then, how about asking him to a movie or something," the teacher offered. He was having a hard time grasping that he was having this conversation with a student. The only thing that was keeping him from ending this was knowing that Dean might not have an older male to talk to about this sort of thing, let alone someone who understands being gay. Mr. Wesson was flattered at the thought.

"He did ask me to go to this Halloween party," Dean said. "I'm going with him, though I have to bring my brother, and I think we're just hanging out as friends."

"Try something subtle. Touching, flirting, you know the easy things that can either go unnoticed or can help move things along." Yeah, Mr. Wesson was seriously having an odd conversation with a student. "As a responsible adult, promise me that if you do start to have sex, that you do it with condoms. I won't promote abstinence. It's a load of shit if you ask me. I'd rather give students the correct means to live life safely rather than aid in suppressing a human want."

Dean smiled slightly. "Thanks, Mr. Wesson."

"No problem."

* * *

><p>The Halloween party ended up being at some kids' house that Castiel barely knew. Word got out around school where it was going to be and Ash had pressured his friend to meet him there. Every day since the address was leaked, Ash continuously annoyed his friend about it, never letting up telling him that it would be a Halloween to remember.<p>

"You're coming to this party, dude," Ash said without even a good morning to his friend. Castiel was placing his backpack in his locker when Ash practically jumped on him about it again.

"I'm going, now shut up," Castiel said. He slammed his locker closed.

"Good, 'cause if you don't show up, I'm kicking your ass."

"Don't we have this same conversation every morning?"

Ash shrugged. "At least it'll get through that thick skull of yours." Castiel ducked out of the way of getting poked in the head. "Did you ask out you're Greek god yet?" Ash asked as they made their way through the halls towards their chemistry class.

"I did," Castiel replied.

"And?"

"And I think he's going," Castiel said.

"Sweet," Ash said. He hit his friend in the arm. "I told you this party is going to be epic."

"And if it isn't, I'll be the one kicking your ass," Castiel said.

"That ain't gonna happen, my friend."

Castiel knew exactly what he wanted his costume to be this year. He stumbled upon this television show one evening, after being told by some girl in last year's English class that he had to check it out, and he fell in love with it instantly. The girl, Charlie, ended up loaning her DVDs to Castiel the next week. She was ecstatic at the thought that Castiel was quickly becoming a fan boy.

Castiel stood in front of the bathroom mirror. He had put together his costume slowly, using all his money to acquire each piece throughout the year. The only thing that he owned already was his Converse sneakers. A white dress shirt was tucked into his navy blue striped dress pants. The matching suit coat was still hung up on a hanger on the back of the bathroom door. He was struggling with tying the tie that he bought for the sole use of this costume. Castiel couldn't knot the thing. He gave up after a good twenty minutes. The instructions he printed out weren't helping him in the least. He grabbed the suit jacket off the hanger and exited the bathroom.

"You look spiffy," Gabriel said. He was standing in the doorway of his bedroom with a packet of Fun Dip in hand. Castiel wasn't surprised that his brother raided the candy already.

"I try," Castiel said, shrugging.

"What are you supposed to be, anyway?" Gabriel asked. He stuck the sugar coated candy stick into his mouth. The blue to green powder was staining his lips.

"Isn't it obvious?" Castiel asked, his arms out. Gabriel looked at his brother questioningly. Castiel rolled his head back and turned to walk down the hallway. He still needed a few things to make his costume complete. Gabriel followed.

"It really isn't," Gabriel said.

"Here," Castiel said as he put on the tan trench coat over his suit jacket. "Do you get it?"

"Oh, I see it now," Gabriel said in mock enthusiasm. "No, I don't."

"Wait, I still need this," Castiel said. He went over to his backpack that was on the living room sofa. Inside was the last bit he needed to pull off the character. Castiel brandished the item, a silver and blue device that lit up and produced a buzzing sound. Gabriel was still looking at his little brother with confusion. Castiel dropped his shoulders and sighed heavily. "The tenth doctor. Doctor Who. David Tennant."

"Oh!" Gabriel exclaimed. "No. I don't get it."

"Never mind," Castiel said.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean had at least an hour before Castiel would be there. His costume would only take him a few minutes to put on. He chose something that was simple, an easily put together outfit that he didn't have to fret over. Dean freaked out over what costume to wear after his father agreed to let him go to the party. Sam dragged his older brother to the Halloween shop that weekend and got Dean to put on multiple costumes until he got him to agree to a certain one. Dean adjusted the vest that was over his white shirt. It looked ridiculous. He felt ridiculous.

The only way that Dean was able to come was to bring his brother Sam along. Sam didn't mind one bit. He was sold with knowing that there was going to be high school girls there. And high school girls liked to dress like sexy cats, sexy cops and other sexy costumes that Sam could only imagine. He was going whether his brother liked it or not. And Dean wasn't happy about the situation.

Sam knocked on the door to his brother's room. "You ready?"

"No," Dean replied.

"Well, too bad," Sam said. "Cas is here."

"Shit," Dean groaned. He wouldn't have any more time to fret over how he looked. Dean mentally crossed his fingers that this would go over okay.

Castiel was sitting in the passenger seat of his brother's car. Luke was to drive the boys to the house and pick them up, knowing that they'd probably be drinking. He wasn't as blind as his father. Charles didn't expect his youngest son to drink alcohol, figuring he'd make the right decisions. Luke knew better than to think that highly of his brother. He was once seventeen himself.

Castiel perked up at seeing the brothers. Dean was dressed as Han Solo and Castiel's breath hitched in his throat. Castiel loved the original Star Wars trilogy. This just made his night. Dean slid down the backseat to let Sam in behind him. Castiel turned towards his friend. "Who shot first?"

"Han," Dean blurted out.

"Thank you," Castiel exclaimed. Luke chuckled and shook his head.

"Sam just had to be Boba Fett," Dean said.

Sam lifted the plastic helmet off of his head. "Boba Fett is awesome, and you know it."

"I didn't say anything against the Fett man," Dean said. Luke zoned out as he drove with a lit cigarette between his fingers. The boys began discussing Star Wars, debating over certain plot lines and characters' motivations. It was a foreign discussion to Luke as he'd never been the type to watch old science fiction movies. Castiel was radiating when he was talking with Dean. Luke couldn't help but smile.

When they arrived at the house, Dean stopped to look at his friend better. "What are you supposed to be?"

"Doctor Who, David Tennant," Castiel said.

"Oh, yeah, I see it now," Dean said.

"Do you really? Or are you just pretending to get it?"

"I'm not completely dumb," Dean said. "Wait." Dean grabbed Castiel's tie.

Castiel titled his head, dumbfounded at Dean for pulling him in such an intimate manner. "What are you doing?"

"You're tie is fucked up," Dean replied. He unknotted the tie and began to redo it rather efficiently. As Dean was pulling an end through a loop he had created, Castiel felt his breathing halt. He had to focus on taking in air. It wasn't easy. Dean's face was so close to his that he could smell the lingering minty smell of toothpaste. When Dean finished, he adjusted the knot so it fit just right. They locked eyes. Everything around them didn't exist. It was just the two of them on the front lawn and nothing else.

"We should probably head in," Castiel found himself saying. If he didn't speak, he knew he'd end up doing something that he'd regret. He'd wait for the regretful moments for when he'd get drunk off his ass. Sam was nowhere to be found as Dean and Castiel made their way to the front door.

The house was crammed with people. It looked to Dean like the whole school, and possibly some teenagers from the next school district over, had turned out to this event. Some of the kids he recognized easily. Everyone else either had their faces painted, wore masks or were partially concealed for their costumes. A few costumes caught Dean's attention. Castiel and Dean loved watching whoever was under the Grimm reaper cloak. He would stand still in a room, scythe in hand, waiting for anyone to come near. It was riot watching him scare the shit out of people.

Dean overheard from some of Crowley's cronies whose house they were at. Garth, the nerdy kid that was in Dean's math class in tenth grade, had put out word that he was going to hold the gathering. He tried desperately to fit in with the rest of his peers. He hoped that this bash would get their approval, though the cowboy outfit he was wearing made him look like a child playing Cowboys and Indians. He insisted he was Walker Texas Ranger. Dean heard Lilith mocking the poor kid behind her red plastic cup that he looked, "more like Clint Douchewood."

The first floor was where everyone seemed to be congregating. Some people were outside by the bonfire or in the basement playing pool. Orange and black streamers blocked the stairwell to the second floor. It was Garth's attempt at keeping out those who wanted to create their own Sodom and Gomorra in the bedrooms. A few people did slip past the crinkled paper without Garth's knowledge. It wasn't difficult to imagine the shenanigans going on upstairs.

Dean stuck near Castiel as they made their way through the house. The people were starting to cause Dean some anxiety. As long as he stayed close to Castiel, the panic of being in a large social gathering kept the attack at bay. Castiel noticed Dean's uneasiness. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Dean replied.

"Too many people?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah."

"Let's get you a beer. It'll help calm your nerves."

Dean followed Castiel into the kitchen. Liquor bottles, beer cans, cups and bags of melting ice lined all available counter space. Neither boy wanted to ask how there came to be so much alcohol in a house full of under aged teenagers. They just accepted it. They each took a red cup and filled them with beer from the keg that sat on the hardwood floor. Sam found his brother just shortly after Dean had sipped at his beer. It tasted interesting, albeit slightly watery, but Dean actually took to the taste after a few more sips.

"What are you drinking," Sam asked.

"You can't have any," Dean said sternly. His older brother instincts were kicking in.

Sam huffed. "That wasn't what I was implying."

"I know that's what you were implying, bitch. I'm not stupid."

"Fine," Sam gave in to his older brother. As he slumped off to the bonfire, he mumbled something that sounded like a slew of curse words. Dean made out a few jerks that Sam threw in for good measure.

"You know he's going to drink," Castiel said.

"Yeah, I know," Dean said. "I just want to feel like I at least attempted to keep him innocent."

Castiel motioned for Dean to follow him towards the living room. Music was blaring through the sound system. Dean cringed at the pop music.

"What?" Castiel asked. Dean looked at his friend, eyes wide in question. "You made a face."

"Oh," Dean replied. "It's the music."

"You don't like Taylor Swift?"

"Fuck no," Dean said. He sat down on the love seat, the only couch that wasn't occupied.

Castiel mockingly gasped. "How can you not like Swifty?"

Dean laughed, lifting his shoulders in indifference. "I rarely listen to anything past like the early nineties. It's all classic rock and metal for me."

"You'll have to play me some of your favorite bands sometime," Castiel said, sitting down next to his friend. He playfully leaned his shoulder into Dean's. "I apparently have little to no music taste. Says Ash, the king of mullet rock. Whatever that consists of." Dean laughed as he kept their shoulders in contact with each other.

"Dude!" The boys heard someone across the living room exclaim. "You actually came!"

"Yes, Ash. I came," Castiel said.

Ash looked to see who was sitting next to Castiel. His smile widened at how close the two were sitting. "You must be Dean."

"And you must be Ash," Dean said. They shook hands. "What are you dressed as? A Lynyrd Synyrd roadie?"

"He always looks like that," Castiel said.

"Hey, Lynyrd Synyrd rocks. Free bird?" Ash stood defiantly in front of Dean.

Dean put up his hands in defense. "I said nothing against them. I'm just not that into southern rock is all."

"Then what do you like?" Ash asked.

"Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Boston, Kansas, Black Sabbath, Neil Young, Pink Floyd, Metallica, Jethro Tull, Seger, Cooper, Bowie," Dean started to rail off.

"Alright, I get it, you're a classic rock man." Ash turned to Castiel. He gestured towards Dean and said, "Good choice." Castiel smiled. Heat rushed to his cheeks. He wanted to blame it on the beer, but it was Ash's approval of Dean that sent a warmth through him.

* * *

><p>Later in the night Dean found refuge in an empty room. Even with how ever much beer he had consumed, Dean was still having difficulties with being around so many people. All he needed was some peace for himself for a while. Castiel wandered through the house in search of his friend, finding him lounging in an arm chair with a red plastic cup in hand.<p>

Dean wasn't planning on drinking a lot. His father was a reminder for how things could end up being for him if he did consume an obscene amount alcohol. Castiel had poured him some beer from the keg. He felt pressured to at least drink some. And one glass led to three which led to shots and seeing the room spin.

"You okay," Castiel asked. "You left shortly after Ash started making out with that punk chick, Pamela."

"I just needed some space, Cas. I think I'm really drunk." Dean was grinning ear to ear. Castiel chuckled. His friend was slumped in the chair, head lulled to the side and his eyes heavy. The alcohol had made him sleepy. Castiel couldn't stave off a wide grin.

"Drunk Dean is a happy Dean," Castiel remarked.

"Yes he is," Dean said. "Is Cas?"

"Getting there," Castiel said, titling his plastic red cup in his friends' direction.

"Come'ere," Dean said, running the two words together.

"Shit, you're at this stage?"

"What stage?"

"The, 'come'ere' stage. The next is the, 'I love you man,' stage," Castiel said.

"What's after that?" Dean asked.

"Throwing up and blacking out?"

"That doesn't sound fun," Dean said, frowning at the prospect.

"It really isn't." Castiel went over to Dean and took the cup out of his hand. There wasn't anything left. "I'm cutting you off."

"That's fine," Dean replied. "Just come'ere." Dean grabbed Castiel by one of his belt loops. He pulled Castiel closer to him. "Where's your trench and suit jacket?"

"I was hot," Castiel said.

"Yeah you are." Dean had no control over the words that were being spoken. His thoughts and actions were being dictated by the liquid that he consumed. He knew he shouldn't be attempting this in an intoxicated state, but he couldn't control himself. And Castiel wasn't stopping the situation from happening either. So they both went with it.

Castiel dropped Dean's empty red cup onto the carpet. His own was then then downed in one last gulp before joining its partner on the floor. Dean held onto Castiel's belt loops with each pointer finger, aiding him to straddle Dean's lap.

"I still can't believe you dressed as Han Solo," Castiel said.

"It's seriously one of the best love stories ever," Dean said. "Han and Leia will always be my OTP."

"No shit, as it should be."

"I get you're the Doctor, but I've never seen it." Dean grabbed Castiel by the shirt collar.

"I can borrow my friends' DVDs and we can watch it together sometime," Castiel said.

"I'd like that," Dean replied, smiling.

Castiel then placed his hands on Dean's cheeks. He moved closer to Dean. Their lips met. Castiel easily parted his lips and his tongue slowly moved out of his mouth, pushing against Dean's, looking for an invitation. An invitation that Dean quickly accepted. It was drunkenly sloppy, all lips and teeth while their tongues attempted to dance with each other until Castiel pulled away, breathless. "Fuck," he huffed out. "That was better than I had imagined."

Dean kissed Castiel with a peck. "I agree."

They continued kissing, letting their tongues explore each other. After a few minutes it became less sloppy as they felt each other out, letting their self-consciousness recede. The carnal instincts of their bodies spoke volumes. Castiel couldn't help the feeling that overwhelmed his senses. While straddling Dean, he started to grind against him, moving his hips against Dean's in a slow movement that was in time to the bass and drum that filtered from the living room stereo. Castiel's body was aching for more, and he could feel Dean against him, the friction that caused them to both grow hard. Dean then grabbed Castiel's tie, pulling him in closer, wanting to feel more body heat.

They broke away when they heard feet running down the hall. "Some kid is throwing up in the bathroom," they heard.

"Ew, gross," a girl's voice whined.

"I think its Boba Fett. He was downing drinks like water all night," a third voice said.

Castiel rested his forehead against Dean's. "Fuck," Dean moaned.

"You better go get your brother," Castiel said. "And we should probably head home." Castiel stood up, and pulled Dean off the chair. Dean could barely stand, staggering after a few steps towards the door. "You really are drunk," Castiel remarked. "Here," he put his wasted friends' arm around his shoulders. The pair continued on down the hallway towards the bathroom.


End file.
